You Were Supposed to Be Dead
by LovelyMetalhead
Summary: The Metal Masked Assassin learns of some news and he is not particularly happy. Takes place just after Renovationklok. Warnings: Blood, Gore, Violence.


He couldn't believe it when he saw the news.

The reporter's face retained its professional deadpan on the television screen as he vocalized the journalistic information."Dethklok's lawyer, manager, and Chief Financial Officer, Charles Foster Offdensen, who was presumed to be dead at the attack on Mordhaus nine months ago has miraculously returned, happy and healthy and ready to get back to business..."

The Assassin could not fucking believe it. With a deep bellow he punched the TV straight in the screen, violent cracks marking the action and clearing the digial images from it. His gloves protected his hands from potential punctures and bleeding, not that it made much difference to him. The Assassin forcibly grabbed the outdated piece of technology, a bulky 1998 model, and threw it across the room, displaying only a fraction of his strength. The TV met the floor with a cacophonous clang and crash, sparks momentarily flying from the device. Angry shallow breaths escaped through his clenched teeth as he looked through his silver mask upon the destruction that he just caused. A sudden realization just hit him in the moment.

_Shit_. That was the only reliable platform of information on Dethklok that the Revengencers had, and he just destroyed it without mercy, without a second thought to the consequences. But the Assassin was justifiably_ pissed right the fuck off_.

He was so _sure_. He made _sure_ that Dethklok's manager was dead at the scene of the attack. At least, he was sure that he did! Offdensen's body had lain lifeless and bleeding, a surely victorious end to the dispute that they had somewhat silently established. Mordhaus burned to ashes, leaving the Revengencers' message loud and clear. _Dethklok must die._

Clearly the Assassin didn't double check, make sure that his work was finished. Because clearly, his sworn enemy was alive, and no doubt ready to pay him back for the damage that he had caused.

And he was just downright pissed. There was no way to define how he felt other than pure anger.

He took it out on the Revengencers' only reliable source of information. Sure, they did have a wireless internet connection, thanks to the technological prowess of Edgar Jomfru, but it was rendered practically useless because it was spotty as all hell. Jomfru had been working to make it better, but in all honesty, the only real way to make the internet connection solid would be to move the hideout to a different location. They were not prepared to take that risk.

There were also some Revengencers working undercover as Klokateers, but that was a a blotchy-at-best method, considering the high mortality rate of Dethklok's workers. _Except for their manager apparently_, the Assassin cursed under his breath with tightly clenched fists.

He held his head on long enough to determine that he needed to get the rest of his anger out in a more proper fashion, before he took it out on the little avenues of information that the Revengencers had. He stomped his way through the dark and abandoned building, growling heavily and punching the occasional wall. That proved to be futile as the image of a smirking Charles Fucking Offdensen lingered in his mind, taunting him.

An unfortunate subordinate crossed his path. He violently grabbed the zombie-like servant's arm without words and dragged him to the room where he dismembered and examined bodies. He needed a room specifically for this because sometimes because his scientific curiosity got the best of him, sometimes because he just fucking felt like ripping apart a body. This Revengencer was going to be left in mangled shreds by the time the Assassin was done with him. And he was going to make damn sure that the guy _felt_ it. It didn't matter; he and Jomfru could always brainwash more recruits.

They reached the room, and the Assassin barked at the grunt to lay himself on the examining table. The zombie-subordinate reluctantly followed orders. Meanwhile, the Assassin reached for his... "medical supplies," the term questionably assigned to the tools, as most of them realistically wouldn't be used in a medical context. A regular kitchen cutting knife, a stylized machete, a scalpel, forceps, a medical saw, a meat cleaver, and a fork were laid on the stand next to the examining table. He made sure that his gloves were secure on his hands. There really was no need for all the flowery rituals that preceded surgery; as long as the Assassin kept his hands clean and mouth closed he should be fine. Besides, this wouldn't take long.

He looked at the essentially lifeless form before him. There was an evident pulse, and the now-specimen was audibly breathing. But his brain had no real thought process, no passion, no fears, only inexplicable hate that didn't exist before the Assassin and Jomfru got their hands on him. The Assassin almost pitied this one.

Almost.

He grabbed the scalpel and furiously scratched a mark across the zombie's torso. This sprung screeches of pain from his victim, but of course, the Assassin continued with his work. Several more slashes were carved into the torso before him, gradually going deeper and deeper, but careful not to get to any vital organs just yet. He aimlessly grabbed the medical saw, examined it momentarily, and promptly cut through the victim's right arm. The victim flailed and screeched as the tool cut through flesh, nerves, _bone_, and as his own blood scattered in the air and obscured his own vision. Once the saw made its way through the victim's arm, the Assassin threw it behind him, having expended a good portion of his frustration with that.

He seized the machete next, screeching before sinking the blade into his victim's torso, and dragging it back and forth, causing flesh to peel back and forth with it. He continued to ignore the cries of pain that he caused, ripping the weapon from the body. He thrust the machete with the sharp end down into the victim's stomach, causing a mixed leakage of stomach acid and blood to pour out from the area. The stomach acid stung where flesh was already cut and mutilated, and the once-whole in body and mind Revengencer could only voice out weak, agonized moans, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

The Assassin looked upon this sad, useless pile of flesh. The look on his face said, "Please, just kill me already," as his brain couldn't conjure up the words itself. The Assassin's breathing was hard and heavy. Normally he could torture a good ten men, and for much longer than this. But his anger depleted his energy much more quickly. There was little method to decimating this victim; it was a process of, "just rip him apart as long as you can before you feel like ending his suffering."

The Assassin had no time or energy for this anymore. He grabbed the kitchen knife, rose it above him, and plummeted it straight into the victim's heart. The victim shuddered and gasped for air, as blood was filling his lungs. His torturer gave a few more deep stabs in the heart for good measure, and watched as blood poured from his chest. A few moments passed before the victim became nothing more than a truly lifeless corpse. The Assassin carelessly pushed it off the examining table, and left the room, feeling a bit better about Dethklok's manager for now.

Though this past torture session made him realize: he should have made sure that his heart could no longer beat, as he did with his victim just now. His vocal chords should have been ripped out. He should have choked him with his own tie and slashed his throat afterwards. He should have thrown his enemy's body into the pyre of Mordhaus. He should have just made quick work of shouldn't have played around and reveled in Offdensen's visible suffering.

_But where was the fun in that?_ he asked himself.

He shook the thought from his brain and went to look for Jomfru to see if he could procure a new TV, making sure to place the blame of the old one's obsolete condition on the man he just tortured.


End file.
